My Shinobi Academia: Rising: A Naruto X MHA Story
by SmorbleMan
Summary: In a world of ninja, Izuku has no talent for ninjutsu or genjutsu, and his taijutsu is lacking, at best. If his chakra won't flow, his career as a shinobi is over before it begins. But by inheriting a special kekkei genkai from the new Ninja Academy teacher, Toshinori Sensei, Izuku's ability increases greatly. Does he have a splendid ninja inside him after all?
1. The Genin Exam (Part 1)

**Author's Note: Fixed instances of 'Shadow Clone Jutsu' when it should have been the regular 'Clone Jutsu'. Got my lore mixed up.**

* * *

I'm fairly certain Kamui Sensei is speaking, but I'm far too preoccupied shaking in my seat to say for sure. I mean, his arms are moving in what look like purposeful gestures, so his mouth is probably moving under the wooden mask he always wears. If it is, there must be some kind of demon blocking the words from entering my ears.

He points to the assisting teacher, who gives him a thumbs-up. This all seems very important, but why are we here, again?

"We will now begin the graduation exam," says Sensei. "First up, Ochako Uraraka." Her name brings me back into reality. A rosy-cheeked girl two rows down rises from her seat, and I wonder if _I_ look that nervous. Her short hair bobs as she approaches the podium, where Kamui Sensei thoughtfully regards a piece of paper clamped to a clipboard. "Perform the Clone Jutsu."

She gulps, already-visible beads of sweat forming on her forehead. I come to and perk up a little, concerned for her sake. If I've learned anything during my time at the Academy, it's that looks can be deceiving. Ochako might have a round face and a cherub-like demeanor, but her ninjutsu prowess is nothing to sniff at. That said, this particular jutsu has proven difficult for even the skilled among us. So, I don't know how this is going to turn out.

She weaves the sign of the Tiger, eyes shut tight in intense focus. What little murmuring there is ceases, and twenty eager kids camp on the edge of their seats in anticipation. Several seconds pass, and nothing. Not even a single solitary wisp. Though his expression hides behind a wooden mask, we can all feel Kamui Sensei's patience wearing thin.

 _Loosen up_ , my mind screams. _Your chakra network is constricted! You'll ruin the jutsu!_ I'm not one to talk, really, but I'm also not incorrect. I can see her shaking, muscles wringing themselves like a towel. The beads of sweat grow larger as Ochako tightens, seemingly aware that she needs to relax but helpless under the pressure. It takes everything I have not to let the words fly.

Just as I think it's over for her, she draws a deep breath. A cool calm spreads over her face, and the rest of her body follows this example, relaxing muscle by muscle until her physical method is sustainable.

Almost immediately, there is a loud _POFF_ accompanied by a puff of white smoke.

A perfect replica of her likeness stands a meter to her left, smiling and waving to her original's friends sitting in the middle second row. After a few seconds, Ochako releases the jutsu, causing the clone to disappear in the same plume it emerged from.

A low rumble of claps climbs to a great cheer of gratitude. To fail on the first go is to jinx the rest of the class, so it isn't exactly a coveted position. But Ochako had done well, and in doing so had slain the jinx, lifting the sour weight from everyone's shoulders.

"Very good," says Kamui Sensei. "You almost ran out of time, though. Try to improve your relaxation techniques."

"Yes, Sensei. Thank you," says the breathless girl.

"Now then…" Sensei gestures to the assisting teacher, who sits near the window. The table in front of him proudly displays exactly twenty headbands of durable cloth, bolted with a metal strip emblazoned with the spiraling leaf: The emblem of Konoha. You can't graduate – or even call yourself a true shinobi – without one.

Everyone leans in as Ochako is led by Kamui Sensei, likely aware of our expectations for this moment. It is the beginning of the rest of our lives, and now one of our own is about to take hold of that gleaming future.

Her hand hovers over the front row for a second before finally choosing one, and the assisting teacher comes around to help her tie it. A buoyant grin spreads across the disbelieving girl's face. Stepping through the door just fifteen minutes ago, she had been a poor girl with a big dream. But now, as she turns to face her classmates, forehead protected by the Will of Fire, she is a kunoichi.

The class breaks the sound barrier with roars of solidarity – the fact that the rest of us still have to perform be darned. Even I can't help but toss my own voice into the bedlam. There are dreams in this room, and we greenhorn youths are breathing them like air.

Ochako returns to her seat, and her friends try to help hold her joyful tears. Kamui Sensei wisely allows the initial high to settle naturally, and we soon find ourselves hyperventilating again.

Sensei clears his throat.

"Next: Tenya Iida."

"Yes, Sensei!" shouts a tall, angular boy from across the room. He approaches the podium, his stark-upright posture never wavering. He's gotten a handle on the drill already and takes his stance before Sensei even gets the formalities out of the way.

"Perform the Clone Jutsu."

"Absolutely!" He performs the jutsu with no visible signs of strain. It seems to come easily to him, and I'm green with envy. Upon Sensei's approval, he extinguishes the clones, and I'm relieved. Just one dose of Iida's unyielding enthusiasm is enough for a room this tense. I'm sure everyone else is thinking the same thing.

"Very good, Iida. You produced a whole three clones."

"Yes, sir!" he says, voice never dropping below an exclamation. "As a future Squad Leader and Ninja Academy teacher, I must set a good example by going the extra mile. No less than my best will do!" His arms flail robotically as he speaks; everyone made a mental note long ago not to visit any art museums with him.

He takes his headband with melodramatic display, tears streaming as he hangs the emblem at his neck.

"Return to your seat, please," says Kamui Sensei.

"Yes, sir," he sniffles proudly.

"Next, Kaminari Denki." His is executed perfectly, as well – but the clones themselves won't put their thumbs down and squeak "wheee" every few seconds. "Hmmm… It needs some work, but you made four. So…" He points his pen at the headband table without looking. Denki shoots finger-guns at everyone on the way back to his seat and high-fives the spiky-haired boy waiting for him.

"Asui Tsuyu." Another perfect execution with three clones.

"Ashido Mina." Two clones, miscolored and without her horns, but otherwise good.

"Yaoyorozu Momo."

"Jirou Kyouka."

"Kirishima Eijirou."

"Todoroki Shouto.""

I notice he isn't calling the names in syllabic order, which leads me down a familiar rabbit hole.

 _He could be doing this for a lot of reasons, but the most likely is that he's trying to throw us off. If we don't know who's going next, it prevents us from mentally preparing and pre-concentrating our chakra, thus producing a more genuine test result. The second most likely reason is…_

Something jolts me back into reality, and my blood freezes. Twenty sets of eyes stare back at me, and I wonder how long I've been muttering to myself. From the looks I'm getting, I guess it must have been at least a full minute.

Kamui Sensei's eye twitches within the shadow of his mask, having been distracted from his writing mid-mark. The pen slowly rises from its place on the paper to rest in my direction.

"Midoriya Izuku. Let's have _you_ , now."


	2. The Genin Exam (Part 2)

I'm back to the shaking.

My knees buckle as I rise, and there is nothing in the world I want more right now than to not be me. I'm sure I was right about Kamui Sensei's strategy. But, as it's the reason I'm facing the lion's den, it seems foolish to be proud of that.

As I set my stance, there are far too many eyes on me. Some are sympathetic to my situation, pitying me for never having a chance. Others avert, pretending to pay attention to the apparently very interesting floorboards. I'm sure they're just eager to have the ordeal over with, but I'm grateful to those eyes.

However, I can't help but pick out one particular person at the very back of the room. His shadowed eyes prowl my misery, waiting with sadistic glee for me to fail royally.

I don't know how I manage to do it, but I push him out of my mind. The stage is mine, and I'm not wasting this shot.

I steeple my index and middle fingers, clasping the remaining fingers in front. The sign of the Tiger. _Should be easy enough_ , I assure myself. _It's just one sign_. I fend off another nagging thought, which is that this exact jutsu has never once worked out in my favor. _No! Focus._

Shoulders forward, back straight, eyes shut.

I want to open my eyes as someone else. What would it be like to be Tsuyu? Being like a frog might be nice, but I'd have to adjust to being a girl, too, and I'm too squeamish for that. I could have hardening skin, though, like Eijiro. Or electric powers, like Denki. Any _kekkei genkai_ will do. Any amount of _talent_ will do.

I open my eyes to miniscule slits. As far as I can tell, my wish didn't come true. I'm not someone else – or even a better version of myself. I'm still me, in the same predicament as a few seconds ago.

Ochako and I lock eyes. I don't know how she noticed, but she stares back with eager anticipation. In the span of a few seconds, our eyes convey what a million words wouldn't be able to. She tilts her head ever so slightly, making the glare of her headband perform a flickering dance as it flows across the sacred leaf symbol. I want to wear that. No. _I'm_ going _to wear that_ , I decide.

I clamp my eyelids, and inhale.

 _Give me anything_.

Exhale.

 _Anything…_

 _Shadow Clone Jutsu!_

 _POFF!_

I jolt, not expecting to have expelled that much chakra. Most days I'm lucky to have harnessed any at all – but that was a sizeable chunk. I even feel the prickling sensation lingering on my chakra network; it isn't used to that much strain.

When I finally pry my eyes open, the vaguely mocking atmosphere has been swept out the window. Now, the air is like stale bread. Heavy, chewy, and tasteless. Everyone's eyes are to the left of me, and most of them are so wide I can't see their eyelids.

 _Ohpleaseohpleaseohplease…_

I slowly pivot my neck, my knees smashing together at a record speed. Bullets of sweat shake off me and rain to the floor. Teeth chattering, lungs hyperventilating, heart beating, I'm going to pass out…

 _PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEEEEEASE!_

I finally look, and…

Oh, throw me to the dogs.

It's garbage. A gray mass of whatever I would look like if I'd been eaten by a bear and then defecated onto the classroom floor. Maybe a bear _had_ broken into the classroom, swallowed me whole, then just plopped me out. That would mean I'm dead – a ghost witnessing the aftermath of my own untimely demise. Which, I must admit, is a preferable alternative to what I'm dealing with right now.

"Wh… Wha…?" I whimper.

As if waiting for the cue, the class breaks the sound barrier once more, but this time they're laughing uproariously. It's not a dry laugh either, it's a full-bodied crying laugh you'd expect from a circus audience – not a class of comrades that have struggled with you all the way through your Academy years. Looking around, I notice that it's mostly the rough kids who are laughing. And some of those, at least, look like they don't want to be. I can't blame them. I know I'm pathetic.

But there's one who isn't sorry in the slightest. He'll laugh standing on my grave. Those shadowed, unsympathetic, mean eyes. I unweave my hands and let them drop to my side. They close into fists automatically.

"What's so funny, Kacchan?" I ask before I begin to tremble. I've always had a shaky constitution when it comes to Kacchan, ever since we were kids. Some would vouch I have good reason to.

He leans forward, emerging from the shadowed corner, and his expression twists from common schadenfreude into his signature hard grimace. He doesn't even have to speak to portray his ultimacy over me and, in his mind, everyone else.

"What's funny? You made a turd, that's what's funny!" The disgraceful clone vanishes into a puff of smoke, as if running away. This makes Kacchan laugh even harder. The lingering cacophony of chuckles quiets as he siphons everyone's attention. "I don't see why you even try, stupid Deku. You've been a failure since you were born, and you'll be a failure six feet under!"

"Katsuki, come on," says Denki. I think he means it, even though he's still teary from when he was laughing a minute ago. There are several scattered murmurs of agreement.

"Can it, Dunceface!" Bakugo warns. "And the rest of you posers, too!" In one swift motion he stands on his chair and plants one foot loudly on the desk. Even from the back of the room, his presence is titanic. "Get it, broccoli stalk? You're not even good enough to make me look better by comparison! You're always pissing around, pretending you could ever be anything but a disappointment, but you're not even as good as the worst of these extras! PAYING ATTENTION, STUPID DEKU? YOU'RE _NOTHING!_ "

"That's enough! I think he gets it," says Kamui Sensei, finally swooping in with his waving pen. He seems to take special offense to Kacchan standing on the desk, not the incredible verbal thrashing I'm taking. "If you don't settle down, I'll fail you, too, Mister Bakugo,"

If there weren't tears in my eyes before, there are now.

"Too?" I say.

He scratches his neck. "Yes, Midoriya, I'm afraid I can't pass you."

"Um, sir," Ochako says, raising her hand. I can tell she hadn't been laughing. "I know it wasn't perfect, or even good—" unnecessary, perhaps, but fair, "—but Deku, I mean, Izuku _did_ perform the jutsu. In fact, I've never seen him perform it better."

My heart swells, and for a second there is a ray of hope in her words.

Kamui Sensei sighs, thumping his pen on his mask.

"I'm sure Mister Midoriya appreciates the sentiment, Miss Uraraka, but that is precisely the point." He turns to me. "I've kept you in class because you have exceptional intellectual skills. Strategy, decisiveness, and trivia are your strong suits, and they are admirable traits that I had hoped _others_ in the class," he cuts a look at Kacchan, whose eye twitches, "would latch onto. But your consistent lack of any kind of ninja aptitude has been a bother, to say the least. Your ninjutsu is pathetic, your genjutsu is nonexistent, and you can't even last one minute in our sparring sessions. Lacking in one of these categories is fine, and two is acceptable in certain cases. But to fail at all three is unacceptable. So, I'm sorry, Mister Midoriya. You are unfit to be a shinobi."

My body gives up upon hearing those words. I've been waiting to hear them my whole life, but I'm not ready when they come. They spread through me, a sobering poison numbing my body. My nerves unwind, no longer anticipating. My muscles untense, no longer working. For a second, I think I'm going to faint, but my spine remains upright, and my legs help a dead-eyed zombie stumble forward.

Expressions of worry graze my peripheral vision, as well as offerings of "Are you okay, man?" and "Wait, I'll get the nurse." These gestures are barely-intelligible static in my ears, and I can't bring myself to acknowledge them. The world itself may as well be white noise.

I'm living in third person now, looking on from somewhere high above. I watch myself walk the aisle. I reach the row my seat is in, but I don't stop. I keep walking, trudging past my seat, past a silent Kacchan, and out the door.


	3. Shinobi Hopeful (Part 1)

The shadow of the courtyard tree is like a consoling hug. I'm straddling the lone swing that hangs from one of the thick branches, deeply grooved by years of rope friction. I feel like this exact spot has seen its share of failures, though I can't explain why I feel this. It's like an aura – a scent hanging in the air. I'm the farthest away from the Academy you can get while still being in its fenced bounds, and I'm so content here that I'm afraid to move.

It's finally over. Right? I don't have to try anymore. I mean, I _could_. The graduation exam is held often, but how much could I really improve between now and the next time? I've been coasting my whole life – no, worse than coasting. I've been used. I never had any chance of being a shinobi, and the only thing that's brought me this far is my note-taking ability. Well, that and the pity of others. If I continue pushing for this dream, I'll be nothing but a joke.

But there are upsides, I guess. No more getting my face rearranged in sparring sessions. That's good. No more being lambasted by Kacchan. Double-good. I don't have to endure any more pain.

I grip the rope tighter. _What is this?_ I'm so okay with being a failure it makes me sick. I still want to be a ninja, don't I?

I crumple up my jumbled thoughts and sigh them out.

The bell sounds, and a litter of newborn shinobi streams out, foreheads glinting with their allegiance. Several soon take note of my presence, and the crowd bends to give me much more space than necessary.

I'm being selfish, I think. A distraction. They're chattering excitedly, trying to celebrate their graduation, and my solemn stench is souring the mood.

I'm astral projecting again, watching my hanging head bid the swing goodbye and slog across the courtyard, alone. At least, I think I'm alone – but a tap on my shoulder proves otherwise.

I whirl around to once again meet her gleaming eyes, thinking we must be magnetized, or something. My poker face is normally less than stellar around Ochako. But with my whole world in the process of drifting away as a fine dust, being smitten doesn't come as easily. I don't want to burden her, though, so I plaster on my best facsimile of myself.

"Oh, hey!" I say, caricaturing my own frenetic energy. It isn't convincing, and it shows on her face.

"Hey."

That's it? She approached me just for that? She must be trying to get me to say something else, but I'd rather eat glass than try to express my feelings right now.

I sigh internally. I raise my voice a bit, hoping to sound a little more like myself.

"That headband suits you. I've seen what you can do, so I'm sure you'll make a fantastic kunoichi." Geez, I'm a worse liar than I am a shinobi – which I suppose is to say I have _negative_ lying talent.

"Deku," she says, eyes soft, "are you going to take the test again?"

"Oh. Ah…" I turn my eyes to the ground. "No, I'm not. I mean, it'd be useless, I think. Just more for Kamui Sensei to worry about, and I definitely don't wanna be that guy who won't take the hint. So, yeah, I think I'll give up being a shinobi. It feels weird, but I'm actually kind of okay with it. After all that being thrown around and laughed at, I'm kind of… I dunno, at peace, I guess—"

"Deku." I know we're magnetized now, because my head snaps up without me telling it to. I have to question if I'm hallucinating, because the Ochako I see is hard and stern – like a clenched fist if it were a person. I have no idea what to say. "I don't like it when you undersell yourself. So, just don't. Okay?" I don't see any tears, but she rubs her eyes with her thumb and index finger. "You saw what happened back there. I almost failed. Do you know why I didn't?"

"Y-you relaxed."

"I wouldn't have if it weren't for the Morning Glory Technique. Remember?"

I do. It's a technique the Hyūga Clan uses to train children. You imagine a blooming Morning Glory, then try to imitate that feeling while churning chakra through your chakra network. It's a kind of meditation meant to help chakra flow, which is crucial to the Gentle Fist Style that all Hyūga use. The clan doesn't deal out this information readily, as it's something of a trade secret. Good thing I'm persistent.

"When I showed you my notes," I say.

She nods. "Last month, you noticed I had a problem with tensing up, and spent an hour teaching me how to do it. Of course, you had trouble doing it yourself – but the point is! Your teaching got me together enough to do the jutsu. It's the reason I'm wearing this headband right now. _You're_ the reason…" She sighs. "I'm sorry. I just… I just hate seeing a friend so discouraged. So, please. I know it's hard, but – but I know you have it in you!" The old, bubbly Ochako rises to the surface and breaks a huge, rosy smile.

I make a mental note, bolded: This is what a real shinobi looks like. Confident. Bright. Always wearing a smile while offering her hand to someone in need. She's everything I've ever wanted to be, and everything I'll never be, now.

She doesn't know I only got as far as I did because of her. Sure, it was a crappy clone. But like she said, I'd never done the jutsu that well before.

She's trying to cheer me up – to get me to keep going – but not even her gorgeous smile is enough to pull me out of this abyss. At least I can take comfort in knowing that an incredible kunoichi like her exists, saving people with a smile like I always wanted to. Living vicariously shouldn't be too bad.

I try to raise my spirits for her sake, but it's like beating a mountain with a hammer. I thank her for the kind – and genuinely encouraging – words, the deep resignation visible in my eyes. Ochako is about to say something else but is cut off by Mina calling her back to the gaggle of celebrators.

"Just a minute," Ochako calls back.

By the time she turns back around, I'm gone.


	4. Shinobi Hopeful (Part 2)

It's dark outside by the time I wake up. A good nap does the body wonders, but offers only temporary refuge for the heart. I remember falling asleep out of sheer desperation to get out of my own head for a while, but once I wake up, it only lasts as long as the initial grogginess does. The tide comes in, and a slightly watered-down mass of emotions comes flooding back into me. I lay awake face-down for another half hour before stomping myself out like a sleeping foot. The will to rise trickles in, and eventually I'm able to hoist myself up.

Startled by my sudden awake-ness, my stomach nags me for food. I haven't eaten all day.

Surprising nobody, I find my mom in the kitchen. She tried approaching me when I came home, eager to hear how I did, but backed off upon seeing me ragged and tear-streaked. I didn't even look at her, just collapsed on my bed without a word. That was kind of rude, I know.

"Hey, Mom."

She spins around, almost dropping the knife she's cutting vegetables with.

"Izuku!"

"Sorry about earlier. I just…" I don't want to give her any more details than I need to. "The test didn't go well."

She smiles understandingly and turns back around. "I figured. But you can just try again. No problem, right?"

I almost laugh. Instead I say, "Yeah," like an idiot, deciding to buy into the sickly fantastical future she thinks I'm capable of having. The sheer blind confidence mothers have in their sons is something to marvel at, and it gives me a shred of weird, bitter-tasting hope. "The next one's in a couple weeks. I guess I try improving my ninjutsu until then."

She says nothing, just continues her cutting.

"Kamui Sensei complimented me, actually. I mean, he failed me, but he said I have traits others could benefit from, like my awesome strategies and good note-taking. It was weird to hear, but maybe if I work hard I can…um…"

I notice the cutting has gradually slowed, stopping midway through a carrot.

She knows. She's always known. When she looks at me, she sees what I haven't been able to see for all these years. These arms will never guard a terrified child. My back will never carry an injured person to safety. My smile will never comfort a grieving heart. I've accepted these things for myself, but how can I accept them for her? She works all day to support her tiny, broken family, and I have the brass, the sheer _audacity_ , to chase after a dream that I know in my heart will never come true? I'm disgusting. Unacceptable. Pathetic. I'd be better off de –

"Stop that," she says. I don't remember her turning around. I'm struck through the heart by the look in her eyes, and then pulverized as I realize Ochako delivered me this very look earlier today. The difference is my mother doesn't have to use words for me to understand what she's saying.

She digs in the pocket of her apron. "Here."

Suddenly I'm holding a voucher for Ichiraku Ramen. It's my go-to ramen shop, on the rare occasion I go out for ramen. Ramen is heavy and throws off my workout routine, so I try to limit my intake of anything but fiber and protein. But right now, I feel so, _so_ right with this idea. My mother knows how to kill my hurtful thoughts better than anyone – with delicious food.

My stomach shouts at me again.

"We'll talk about it when you get home, okay?"

I break a genuine smile for the first time in days. Tears well up as I bask in the warm glow of the greatest love in the world.

"Okay," I say. "I'll be back soon." This seems satisfactory, because she doesn't even make me put on a jacket before I close the door behind me.

* * *

Ichiraku Ramen is a favorite among a lot of local shinobi – mostly Academy teachers and high-ranking leaders. Coming here lends a tiny feeling of kinship, like the noodle bar itself funnels the residual excellence into the next generation. For a second, I think I can smell it in the air, and hope beyond hope that some of it will take root in me.

It's actually just the smell of ramen, though, because duh.

I push the flap aside and take a seat on one of the stools. Teuchi, the old owner, takes notice of me immediately, as the bar is otherwise empty.

"What can I get you, son?" he asks. I hold out the voucher, good for one bowl of Tonkotsu, and he takes it. I toss in a bit of my own pocket change for as much extra pork as it will get me. It's to die for. "Coming right up."

I'd forgotten how cool it is to watch him work. Teuchi is a master, and his daughter Ayame isn't far off. They're a power duo and the best in the business, or so the endorsements plastered all over the wall claim. Seems a bit excessive, but hey. Good ramen is good ramen.

And boy, is it. When he sets the bowl in front of me, fragrant steam wafts straight into my nostrils. I go straight for the pork, too eager to ration it out. It's deeply seasoned and falls apart in my mouth. Heaven.

Just as I'm getting serious about the noodles, I hear the flaps part. I don't know what possesses me to look, but I do, and my chopsticks freeze in my mouth.

Taking the stool one over from me is, well, _probably_ a man. He has spiking blonde hair and dons a loose-fitting pinstriped suit, so the odds are in favor of him at least being human. If he is, his father must be a skeleton, because I can practically see his bones through his skin. His jaw is sunken, and his bright eyes are so inset that his brow ridge shadows them. Does he even eat? Well, we're in a noodle bar, so I guess I'm about to find out. But, my gosh. He's the frailest person I've ever seen.

Teuchi takes his order like it's nothing. He even starts making small talk with the man, as if a zombie hasn't just taken a seat as his bar.

In my infinite social awareness, it occurs to me that I've been staring way too long. Not a millisecond after I realize this does the man extend a hand to me. I jolt, eyes darting down to it.

"How's it going, there?" he says in a voice far too deep for a scarecrow. I set down my chopsticks and gingerly shake his hand.

"Oh. Good. S-sorry…"

He waves it off, breaking a toothy grin that narrows his eyes.

"It's fine, it's fine. I get that look sometimes. Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you, too. Uh, I'm Izuku Midoriya."

His eyes widen ever so slightly. "Well, then. I'm Toshinori Yagi, and I think we'll be getting to know each other pretty well, Izuku."


	5. Shinobi Hopeful (Part 3)

"G-get to know each other? What do you mean?"

He's about to answer but is interrupted when Teuchi serves him his bowl. It looks like plain vegetable soup, which I didn't know they even served here.

"You're an Academy student," he says, taking a careful spoonful. He flinches from the steaming fluid. "Ah, too hot. I saw your name on the roster."

"Only teachers have the student roster."

"Uh-huh," he says, like he wants me to roll with what he's saying. It's not like I can't connect the dots – I'm not that hopeless. He's saying he's an Academy teacher.

I squint suspiciously and take inventory. There are two problems with this assertion: First, I've never seen this man in my life, let alone around the Ninja Academy. Secondly, look at him. Even an Intelligence Corps shinobi has to have some meat on his bones. There's no way…

Is there?

He seems to sense my skepticism, as he stops cooling his soup. "What, nothing else to say?"

"I'm…not sure. Forgive my saying so, but you don't look like someone who fights a lot. Are you really a ninja?"

"Well, I'm not lying."

"How do I know?"

"Hmmm…" he rubs his temples thoughtfully. "I don't normally do this, but if you'll come with me, I can show you."

I should cut my losses, really. Nothing good can come of following a complete stranger to an unknown location. If he attacks me, the cards are stacked in his favor. For all I know, this skeletal form could be a ruse. If he really is a ninja, there's no way I'd win against even a D-Rank jutsu. Heck, my rigorous workout routine can't even help me match up to the taijutsu users in class. If he busts out ninjutsu, I'm dead.

Even so, there's a gentle tiredness in his eyes I hadn't noticed before. He's wearied beyond his years, like if a teenager woke up in the body of an elder. A feeling wells up inside me that I can't describe, rising from my feet to my stomach to my throat. I gulp down what's left of the broth and clunk the bowl back onto the counter, and I'm about to obey my better judgment and walk away.

I don't know what ethereal being seizes me, but I say, "Okay."

I'd prefer to have been brought somewhere with far more people, but he says he can't risk other people seeing what he's about to do. Then why me, I wonder.

We're well down the trail now, and I'm beginning to suspect he might be a part of that rogue group the adults whisper about when they think we can't hear. Come to think of it, there was a fight with them not long ago. The Copy Ninja and a couple other Academy teachers fought a shark man and another man bearing the Sharingan. I think this Toshinori Yagi might be one of them, but it's a peripheral thought – the vetting system for teachers is intense. They usually get a Yamanaka to do the job with their mind-reading jutsu. If he really is a teacher, he's clean.

But still.

The tunnel of trees opens up, and we emerge into a large training field. Its only feature, besides large patches of grass missing here and there, are three posts lined up in the middle. The moonlight casts a somber blue hue onto the environment. My brain seems to register the ambiance as something colder, because I'm getting goosebumps.

I've been to one of these before. It was four years ago. We were brought here on a short field trip to watch the soon-to-be graduates train using their signature jutsu. It was…impactful on my impressionable yet innocent mind. I couldn't get the bug guy out of my head for days.

"Well, here we are," he says. I must not look sufficiently convinced, as if just the fact that he brought me all this way is enough to convince me he's telling the truth. "What's wrong?"

"It's – I just…this is weird. Sorry, I gotta go." I turn on my heel and start walking away.

"Wait, hold on there!"

"I'm sorry for calling you a liar. I don't know your story, but there are plenty of ninja that aren't as they seem. I'm sure your skilled, but it isn't safe to be out at night anyway. I promised my mom I'd be back soon, so—"

"She's your hero, isn't she?"

I freeze.

That is not the voice I've been speaking to for the past thirty minutes. It's deep and booming, befitting of a dragon rather than a lanky, decrepit man. I spin around to see him smoking. No, not smoking a cigarette. Actual smoke – or perhaps steam, now that I'm looking closer – is pouring from his suit and rising into the air.

"What the—"

"I read through your file," the voice continues, somehow coming from his throat. "Four years ago, you wrote that your mother is your hero. Three years ago, you wrote that you wanted to be a ninja more than anything. Two years ago, you wrote that you started training your body non-stop. One year ago, your teacher listed you as a 'hopeless case'. And this morning, you failed your exam."

The steam gradually grows more intense, as, to my utter horror, do his muscles. They bulge and pulse, growing to multiple times their original size. His arms balloon to lampposts, his jaw squares out, and his height doubles.

Suddenly, my legs are rendered useless by the sheer terror of bearing witness to this horrendous spectacle, and my butt hits dirt. I am physically, mentally, spiritually unable to believe this is happening. I've never seen something so…

So incredible.

The backwards waterfall of steam reaches its climax and dissipates into the night air. His eight-foot stature looms over me, his head blocking out the moon's light. The shadow he casts nearly touches the tree line far behind me. I should be scared. I should want to run. Why don't I? I've never been so petrified by anything. But also, there's another feeling. Is it…safety?

He cracks a wide grin, white teeth gleaming even in the velvety night.

"Alright there, my boy?" he booms. Maybe it isn't booming, though. Maybe that's just how he speaks in this form.

"I…wha – how? How? _What_?"

"Easy, there."

"I can't be! You weren't much taller than me just a minute ago, and now you're a giant? And how do you know all that stuff about me? Are you a stalker or something?"

"Of course not, my boy."

"Quit calling me that!"

"Why are you panicking? You want to be a shinobi, don't you?"

I almost say something else, but my mouth closes without my permission.

"Will you listen?" he asks. His voice is still deep as the ocean, but his tone is softer. I nod and decide to hear him out. I am the reason we're out here, after all. "I'm a new Academy teacher, like I said. Very new, in fact. I just arrived in the Hidden Leaf Village last night. This afternoon, Kamui Sensei was kind enough to show me around. It's just a formality, really, but I suppose I got curious about the recent graduates."

Yeah, that makes sense. I ran away just before the ceremony. I wouldn't have seen him, but maybe a few others did. They probably knew about this man already. I'm probably the only one out of the loop. Since, you know…

"There was one who caught my eye more than all the rest, though. He was the only failing mark on the roster." Our eyes lock, and I'm pulled in by his sheer gas giant gravity. "You were described as the most studious, well-read, intelligent, and determined student the school had ever seen. Yet, you had no talent in any ninja art whatsoever. No ninjutsu, genjutsu, or even taijutsu. Most see this as the greatest weakness a shinobi hopeful can have – but there's one thing that matters more than anything else when it comes to being a ninja." He kneels to my level and pokes my chest with a dango-sized knuckle. "You have a strong heart, young Midoriya."

"T-thank you, T-Toshinori Sensei." He isn't technically Sensei to me, I remind myself, since I'm not going back.

He helps me to my feet. Now we're standing alone in the field, unsure how to proceed. At least, I'm unsure. I don't know what gears are turning in his head, though.

After a long silence, he says, "Izuku. Do you want to be a shinobi?"

"Yes, more than anything. At least," I look at the ground, "I did. But Kamui Sensei is right. I have no talent in the ninja arts, so I'm hopeless in the world of shinobi."

"Nonsense," he says. Steam begins pouring off him again, and he slowly deflates to his usual size. I can't fathom what kind of jutsu he's using to do that, but it doesn't feel like the time to ask. His once-filled suit hangs loose on him again, and his voice softens to the comparatively raspy version of five minutes ago. "There's no such thing as hopeless," he continues. "This vast world is filled with so many wonderful things, there is always hope even for those with no skill. That's how I was, before I met my master."

"If you don't mind my asking, how did you become, uh, this, Toshinori Sensei?"

He rests his eyes thoughtfully for a second before answering.

"I'll tell you, young Midoriya. But first answer me one question: After hearing me out, do you still think you are without hope?"

For years I've arranged heavy, disruptive thoughts in my head like items on a desk. I don't know what comes over me, but as I hear these words, I clear the littered surface in one swoop. There's no more room for these – they weigh me down.

"No," I answer with all the surety I can muster. "I have hope, and a nindo, and everything. I want to be strong. I want to be the strongest. I want to protect the village I love with a smile on my face – so everyone can know it's okay when I'm there. I…"

I clench my fists. There are tears in my eyes. My face is hot, and my lungs fill with as much air as they can take. I mean the words I'm about to say. I don't care what anyone thinks. Not Kamui, not Kacchan – nobody in the world.

And I don't say these words. I scream them.

"I WANT TO BE A SHINOBI!"

He smiles and says the only words I've ever wanted to hear.

"Izuku Midoriya. You _can_ be."


	6. Shinobi Hopeful (Part 4)

The air is so still that I'm afraid that the slightest movement will cause ripples. I'm staring straight ahead into his kind, weary eyes, at a loss for what to say.

After a while, I struggle it out. "W-what do you mean I _can_ be? You saw my file. I don't have a shred of talent for anything. No ninjutsu. No genjutsu. Not even taijutsu!" I look down at my useless hands. "I know _how_ to perform jutsu intellectually, but when I try, my chakra just won't flow. It's like trying to push mochi through a steel pipe." I drop my hands, still looking down. "A-are you saying there's something else? Is there some other way I can be a ninja, even with no talent?"

"I didn't say anything about talent, or even ability," he says. "I'm asking for a strong heart and a sharp mind. And from where I'm standing, it looks like you have an abundance of both."

My veins still pump with adrenaline from a moment ago, which is probably why I'm even still listening. It felt good to get it all out, to shout my dream to the heavens. But no matter what my heart feels, my mind knows the truth: You can't be a shinobi without control of your chakra.

It is a second later when I realize I've said this last part out loud. His eyes tell me that he knows I've just spilled out my heart's heaviest burden.

"Izuku Midoriya," hearing my full name from him makes me jolt for some reason, "what if I told you there was a way to unlock your latent potential – to unblock whatever is holding your chakra back."

"I'd say that I've already tried it." My mother spent years trying to find a cure, spending her hard-earned savings on magical herbs, special spices, acupuncture therapy... She even babysat a Hyuga child for six months in exchange for a topical ointment that was supposed to unblock chakra nodes. That didn't work either. But she never stopped trying, even when I did.

"Even the Hyuga?" he asks.

I nod.

He _laughs_.

My eyes snap to him, wide with a sudden burst of anger. "What's so funny?"

"I just remember being in the same position. Desperate. Frustrated. Feeling like the world left you behind. You just want to explode, huh?"

I deflate a little with every syllable. That's exactly how I feel. For years I've felt it – the scenery around me melting away, leaving me staring at my life from the belly of an empty void. A blurry vision. A lie I told myself. That's what my life was.

"But you don't have to feel like that anymore, kid. Because _I am here_ – with an offer, and a request."

"An…offer?"

"Mm-hm. And a request. That's equally as important as the offer. They're a package deal – you can't accept one without accepting the other. But before any of that, you must answer a question."

It seems like an overcomplicated way to go about things, but what do I have to lose at this point? I'm already here, and I've already hit rock bottom. I think I'll see it through.

It's morbid curiosity when I ask, "W-what is it?"

His eyes darken, and he raises a bony finger to the sky.

"This is my question: Is your dream more important than your life?"

I blink twice.

"W-wh—"

"Just think about it. You don't have to answer me right now. Meet me on the Fourth Hokage's head tomorrow morning." He inflates again, faster this time. His muscles balloon up and he grows twice his size in an instant. There's no steam this time, and I suspect it was all for show before. "Can you do that, kid?"

"Y-yeah…"

He smiles and gives me an enormous thumbs-up. "Good. Looking forward to it."


	7. Shinobi Hopeful (Part 5)

**Author's Note: I'm going to try to lengthen the chapters a bit starting with the next one. Just getting back into the groove of things.**

* * *

As I approach our house, I hope my mom didn't wait up for me. I shut the door behind me as softly as I can, not wanting to deprive her of the already deficient amount of sleep she gets. But this is my mom we're talking about. And, of course, there is a light on in the living room, which I can see from the doorway.

She's sitting in an armchair with dark circles under her eyes, arms resting in her lap, head slumped forward in what looks like an uncomfortable position as she sleeps. I don't know when she finally drifted off, but she's out like a light. She doesn't even wake when I tenderly tilt her head to rest against the back of the chair. I could se my breath while walking home, and it'll probably get colder, so I retrieve a thick blanket from the hall closet and drape that over her, as well.

I shut off the light above her and head to my room. As I reach for the doorknob, I look back again, thinking thoughts that she wouldn't like me to be thinking.

What a stupid, horrible son I've been.

"You _can_ be a shinobi." That's what he told me. Out loud. And meant it, as far as I can tell. Somewhere along the way, the part of me that was willing to consider it a possibility had been shaken loose without my realizing it. On the way home, I found myself playing those words in my head over and over and over again, feeling my heart swell with each repetition.

I'm over the moon. Irrationally so. I hadn't realized it at first, after being despondent for so long. I've finally heard the words with my own ears, and I don't intend to take them lightly – offers and requests be damned.

But the guilt. Oh, the guilt. It sits like a rock in my stomach, intense and unceasing. How many times had that poor sleeping woman said the same thing to me? The _exact_ same thing. She said it in the food she cooked. She said it in the hugs she gave. She said it in drawn baths and deserved scolding and ironed clothing. She had been on my side from day one. She told me I could be a shinobi in so many warm, colorful, heartfelt ways. And I had to hear it from a stranger to believe it.

I silently curse myself, feeling tears well up in my eyes. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

I want to make her happy. I want to make _myself_ happy. I want us to be happy together, in this house, for as long as we possibly can. I want it so much it hurts. It's one of the main reasons I wanted to become a ninja, and I'm not about to turn my back on it now. I'm going to show her that the effort she put into raising me wasn't wasted. I'm going to show her how good a job she did. I'm going to show the whole world.

I step into my room and pull the door shut.


	8. New Dawn

**I**

I don't know how my body knows to wake up, but it does. While the long nap I had yesterday afternoon soothed my tattered spirit, it offset my sleep schedule so badly that I had to do pushups until I passed out on the floor. Nothing unusual compared to my usual workout routine, to be honest.

I go to heft myself up, but my back and neck ache from lying on the floor all night, making it that much harder. It might be because I'm groggy, but I'm also severely emotionally drained. I can't imagine anything more traumatizing than yesterday's exam happening today, but if it does, I'm pretty sure I'll die just from the mental fatigue.

My hand goes to my abdomen, and for a second I can still feel the phantom ramen and extra pork warming me from the inside out. It's a nice fuzzy feeling that breaks through my haze. But once it's gone, I realize I haven't eaten anything since then.

"Breakfast…" I mumble to myself, heading to the kitchen, where I find a plate of omelette rice waiting for me, covered to keep it warm. " _Itadakimasu_ ," I say, and dig in with all the vigor I can muster. As I chew, letting the meal slowly restore me to personhood, I notice a piece of paper lying folded on the table. I shove another spoonful of the runny concoction into my mouth before picking it up.

 _Hi, Sweetie_ , it reads. _I made your favorite as a thank you for the blanket. Remember, you don't have to go back to the Academy until you're ready, so take some time off if you want. I know you can be a ninja, so keep at it! I love you. – Mom_

It isn't until I finish reading that I realize I'm crying, hot tears streaming down my face. I cram another delicious spoonful into my mouth, and then another. I'm finding it hard to chew now, but I don't care. I can do this. There's at least one person in my corner – I have that much figured out. And that's enough. I _can_ be a shinobi. I _can_ be a shinobi. I _can_ —

 _"You can be,"_ a voice echoes in my mind.

My spoon clatters to the table. "Oh no," I mumble through the mountain of rice and egg. Once a loving gesture, the food has turned to ash in my mouth as my brain fills in the blanks in my memory. I can't believe I forgot. How could I possibly forget? I down the mouthful with water, slamming the whole thing down like a garden snake swallowing a chicken egg. Once it has safely cleared my esophagus, I scream, "YAGI!"

I tear around my room, throwing on whichever articles of clothing my flailing hands happen to find first, tuck Mom's note in my pocket, and bolt out the door.

* * *

 **II**

The Great Stone Faces loom over the village, each past hokage lending their watchful eyes to the protection of our livelihood. I've been studying them all since I was a little kid. On our days off from the Academy, I'd sit in the village's main library and read history books from when it opened until the sky got dark. Not that they did me much good, but I also burned through their entire backlog of ninja training tapes from the past couple decades. Kamui Sensei did one, apparently, and it was good. But he got upset when I mentioned it, so I thought it best to leave that one archived.

The Fifth Hokage's face is still fresh. Since she was just coronated last year, her likeness hasn't been broken in by decades of rain and wind like the others have. Of course, that leads my mind on a journey several months back in time.

I was in the stadium when the final rounds of the Chunin Exams were ruined by a band of rogue ninja from the Sand and Sound villages. There were very few civilian casualties, but the Third Hokage lost his life to one of his old students. I tried to find the student's name in the directory, but all records of them had been redacted. Only the names Jiraiya and Tsunade populated the student section underneath a younger Third's picture, with the third student's name blacked out. I was sad for the student, at first. What had he gone through to push him to not only attack his own village, but murder his former sensei? Given that I easily could have died that day, though, I quickly got over it.

I wonder who would have been hokage if the Fifth hadn't returned to take her teacher's place. I wonder if I could be up there someday.

I reach the end of the walkway, which is really more of a scaffolding. I'm halfway up the plateau face, but nowhere near the top of the Fourth's head. At first, I thought that Yagi meant he would meet me and take us up to talk in private. Given his commanding persona, he strikes me as someone accustomed to theatrics. But after waiting a few minutes with no sight of him, an understanding of what I have to do begins to set in, and the omelette rice churns in my stomach.

I look up at the rock face. "He isn't serious, is he?"

I decide to skip from denial to acceptance.

I take a deep breath and set my foot against the tapering stone. It's pretty steep, but perfect for climbing. Perhaps because of this, a nearby sign clearly states that the rock is not to be scaled, and a more recent addition at the bottom indicates that this includes ninja. But if an Academy teacher told me to do it, it must be okay, right?

I get a handhold and pull myself up, making sure I've got good footing before trying for another. It isn't easy, but once I get into a rhythm, it's all about strength and stamina.

This is the first time my muscles have come in handy since I started lifting the heavier weights a year ago. I'm also channeling what miniscule amount of chakra I can muster into my feet. I doubt it's doing anything, since the Academy doesn't even teach that until after graduation, but it's worth a try. If I had better control I could just scale straight up the wall with no problem. But then I suppose I wouldn't be in this situation in the first place.

 _I hope I'm not too late. I hope he's still waiting._ I grit my teeth, channeling all my energy into my muscles. _I'm coming, Mister Yagi. Stay right where you are, because I'm coming straight to you._

* * *

 **III**

My arms are on fire.

Keeping track of the sun informs me that it has been at least an hour since I started climbing. Working my way over horizontally turned out to be a bigger chore than I'd anticipated, and now my legs feel like pudding. I'm sure it's just a matter of time before they collapse under me, casting me to my gruesome fate below. But I remind myself, simply, that I'm not allowed to die yet. Not until I talk to him, at least.

 _Why the stone faces?_ I complain silently, reaching for another handhold. _Why not Ichiraku again? Secrets are best told over steaming stews, as our weird relatives say._ I sigh deeply, partially out of resignation, and partially because I need to refresh the air in my lungs.

By some miracle of the shinobi gods – or maybe the rock-climbing gods – I finally reach a small haven to catch my breath on. It might be a rock fall, but I'm desperate. I pull myself over and plant myself facedown, uncaring of the rough, gritty texture. I'm just grateful to have made it this far.

I flip myself over like a pancake, flat and melting as the sun beats down on my heaving chest. An enormous silhouette peeks over the rock some distance over my fatigued body, its features obscured by the blazing light source behind it. I'm simultaneously incensed and overjoyed by the two antennae jutting out from the top of it, indicating the figure's identity.

"I see you made it," Mister Yagi booms. "Took some time, huh? I was a little worried there for a minute, but I was prepared to save you if you fell. No need to worry when I am here!" I smile weakly, relieved to have made it without dying. "Well don't just lie there. Come on up!" He disappears over the rock, and my smile vanishes just as quickly. I'm forced to leave the bliss of rest behind, and the last one percent feels like doing the other ninety-nine all over again, but I make it.

He's looking out over the village in full muscle-form. I'm sure it takes effort for him to be like that, so I think I can consider the theatrics hypothesis as proven. I can't even address him through my panting and heaving. I try, but it mostly comes out as sputtering.

"Drink this." He says, handing me a sizable canteen. I down the whole thing in under a minute, sighing with relief as the cold liquid inside settles in my stomach. The sudden fullness makes me nauseous for a minute, but I power through it. "Good, good," he nods thoughtfully, and turns to his bird's-eye-view of the village. Once I've gathered myself, I turn to look, as well.

I don't know what the point of making me climb up here was, but it is suddenly worth it.

The whole village stretches out before me, winding with busy roads and thatched roofs that mesh into a sunlit festival of colors and life. Most pictures of the Village Hidden in the Leaves feature Hokage Rock – its most iconic landmark – so this angle is new to me. From this high up, even the Ninja Academy seems small enough for me to hold in my palm.

My eyes are wide with bewilderment, and I stay frozen in place for a long time, just enjoying the silence and occasional meandering breeze. Mister Yagi finally breaks the silence, startling me a little.

"I've been to a lot of places," he says. There's a pause before he continues, during which I realize I've been holding a breath, and let it out. "The Sand. The Cloud. The Waves. The Rain. No other village has a view quite like this." His enormous chest rises and falls slowly as he savors a breath of crisp morning air. "This village is so radiant and lively – it's a shame to think the people who have grown up here might take it for granted. You don't take it for granted – do you, Young Midoriya?"

It's more of a statement than a question, I can hear it in his voice. I shake my head slowly. "No," I manage breathlessly. It's true, too. I've always loved this village, and everyone in it, as if it were a member of my own family. It seems weird to everyone in my class, especially those who moved here from other villages, but it's always seemed like a natural thing to me. I eye him, wondering how he knows.

That's when I notice how different he looks. Shadowed by the moon he was an imposing monstrosity, but the light of day makes his features crisp and bright, outlining him in a shimmer of gold.

"Lots of places are beautiful, though. True quality is determined by history, and what role a place has in it."

"The Leaf Village has plenty of history," I interject, having caught my breath. "The First Hokage Hashirama, the three Ninja World Wars, the rise of the Uchiha Clan – I've studied all of it! It's fascinating. It really is!"

He nods. "I'm sure. But I'm still an outsider. I don't see what you see or feel what you feel for this place. Not yet."

I guess I understand that. I visited the Land of Waterfalls with Mom once and felt the same way. So if that's how Mister Yagi feels, I don't blame him for it.

"If you don't mind my asking, why _did_ you come here, Mister Yagi? To the Hidden Leaf, I mean."

He lets out a low chuckle. "If you had asked me a day ago, I would have had a completely different answer. But it seems destiny acted upon me last night and brought you to me."

"Me?"

"Yes, Young Midoriya. I don't ask just anyone that question I asked you. Have you given it any thought?"

I look down at my hands, trying to decide what to say. I've been thinking about basically nothing but the question since last night. Is my life really something I'd give up for this dream? I'm not so destroyed as to deny the value in my life, even if I might not spend it as a shinobi.

I know I wouldn't be happy, though. To be a ninja, protecting my village and my comrades, training hard and wielding powerful jutsu, is all I want out of life. I came to recognize that fact a long time ago. And if I wouldn't consider my life complete without it, does that count as being willing to die for my dream?

"Yes. I've thought about it. But…I don't really know how to answer. All I've ever wanted to be is a ninja. And I know I'd die for my family and friends – they drill that one into us early enough at the Academy. But to die for a dream… I guess it depends."

He raises a golden eyebrow. "Depends?"

I nod. "On what you meant when you said I could be a shinobi. About having a strong heart and a sharp mind. I understand if you were just encouraging me and this is all an elaborate attempt at helping a kid not give up on life. I can tell you're a good person, Mister Yagi, so it makes sense that maybe you just saw how hard I've been working all these years and wanted to let me know it wasn't wasted. If that's the case, then I appreciate it. But it's hard to imagine success at this point, to see myself as anything but an ordinary person who can't perform any ninja art at all. I've never been able to produce anything but a pitiful little clone. I came to terms with my inability a long time ago. I don't expect I'll ever stop pushing, trying to achieve my dream. But no matter how much time I waste training, it's completely different than dying for my dream. Because to me, dying while chasing a dream that I know will never come true isn't noble. It's just selfish." I notice I'm raising my voice a bit, so I take a pause to gather myself. Two deep breaths. In, and out, in, and out. "Is there really a world where someone with no talent can be a ninja? Even without ninjutsu, taijutsu, and genjutsu?"

"Technically, no," he says, and this simple statement twists like a dagger in my heart. "In battle, you'll be facing opponents who can disappear in an instant and summon enormous amounts of power from seemingly nowhere. To try and get by with only scrolls and weapons is next to impossible – borderline suicide, honestly. It's only natural that someone would need some form of ninja art to be a ninja."

All the air leaves me. My chest and face fill with heat, just like a day ago when Kamui Sensei told me I was unfit to be a ninja. My arms fall to my side, fingers curling into trembling fists.

"Then…then why bring me out here – just to tell me to give up? Is that what you meant by your question, that I'd die if I kept chasing my dream? That I'd never be able to reach your level?" I wrench out a sob. "Are you making fun of me, Mister Yagi?"

"No, Young Midoriya. None of that is true. I'm here to give you hope again."

I'm crying hard now, visibly shaking as rivers of tears pour down my face, plinking onto the rock beneath me. "So, what, you _want_ me to just throw my life away chasing a _pipe dream_?"

"No, listen—"

"How many times do I have to tell you, I don't have _any_ jutsu! I can't be someone like you, or Kamui Sensei, or Uraraka, or Kacchan. I'm a failed ninja and that's all I'll ever be. So, tell me, _what_ hope? What hope could I _possibly_ have?"

"This," he says.

His hands perform a chain of signs, many of which I don't recognize. Even through my tears, I can tell it's incredibly complex. The way he's contorting his fingers and wrists makes it look like he's tying himself into knots. After weaving the last one, there's a small shockwave that blows my hair back for a second. He parts his hands, and floating between them is a tiny flame. I don't know if fire can be iridescent, but this one is, and it looks like a crystal rapidly changing shape and flickering like candlelight. Each time it flickers, it casts rainbow light onto Mister Yagi's palms like a prism.

I'm looking, but I can't believe it. The air feels prickly in my lungs, now, and the tiny crystal flame emits so much pressure that my gut tightens instinctively. "What…is that?" I ask after rubbing away my tears.

"My _kekkei genkai_."

"C-creating flames made of crystal?" I thought changing into that huge muscular form was his _kekkei genkai_.

Passed down from generation to generation by blood, the _kekkei genkai_ , or bloodline trait, can be as subtle as a having two chakra natures or as noticeable as having six arms. But things like what I'm seeing are normally the result of specific jutsu. He even performed hand signs to do it.

He shakes his head. "You misunderstand," he says. "This flame is the physical manifestation of my bloodline trait, although technically didn't inherit it via blood. It was passed on to me by my master, and by her master before her."

"H-how is that possible?"

"It normally isn't, but in this case, what was once hers is now mine. And now, Izuku Midoriya, if you wish, I can pass it on to you."


	9. Convergence

**I**

Nothing could have prepared me for that string of words. If I only get one time in my life to be speechless, I'm using it now.

His _kekkei genkai_ – the secret to his power. He's offering it to _me_?

"I…I don't understand," I say, barely able to push my voice above a whisper.

"I didn't expect you to – not right away. I know it's a lot to take in, especially since you don't know much about this power except what you can see. Don't worry, I always intended to explain further."

I don't know if any amount of explanation can penetrate the thick haze of confusion that has formed in my mind. But at the same time, my brain is drowning in questions, and I need answers like air. Eventually I nod, deciding to just let him talk at me until I come around.

"As I said," he continues, "I didn't inherit this power from my bloodline. Only the first to wield it did. It was passed down to me by the seventh user, Nana Shimura."

The name alone is all it takes to knock me out of my stupor. "D-do you mean _the_ Nana Shimura? The Hidden Stone ninja who they call the Goddess of Storms?"

He looks to me, eyebrows raised. "She's known in this part of the world?"

"You bet she is!" I exclaim. My hands begin pumping up and down in response to that confirmation, my excitement overwhelming my sense of decorum. I'm not only a history buff, I'm also a hopeless fanatic of not just a few famous shinobi. Like her, many are kunoichi, but none are even close to her level. I have my favorites from the Hidden Leaf, but of all the others, Nana Shimura easily makes my top three. "Well, not widely," I admit. "But I have all her data cards. Is it true she possessed three chakra natures – earth, wind, and lightning – from birth? It seems so crazy, but if you were her student—"

He clears his throat. I stiffen and drop my hands to my side.

"Sorry," I say, embarrassed of my outburst. Here we are trying to have an important and potentially life-changing conversation, and I'm rambling about his old master like a fanboy. I really am hopeless.

He chuckles, a low rumble in his thick throat. "It's quite alright. Just didn't want us to get off track. But you're right, she did possess those three chakra natures from birth. It's so rare that most think it's impossible. Actually, that particular _kekkei genkai_ is said to be cursed in some of the smaller lands. But she made good use of it, and that's why she's remembered so fondly today. Even in the farther-off areas of the world, it seems."

"Wait, it was a _kekkei genkai_? Does that mean she possessed _two_ bloodline traits?" It's somehow even more surprising than finding out a _kekkei genkai_ could be passed down. I pat my pockets, but I've forgotten my notepad. I'll have to write it all down later.

"Yes. She's one of only four people in history to do so."

"I thought she was the seventh inheritor, like you said."

"She was. But three of us, myself included, didn't have a _kekkei genkai_ when we inherited this power."

"Oh, I see. That must be part of why she was so powerful. Some say she could wipe out a whole battalion of Jonin by herself. Is that true?"

"Heh. I don't know about that. She would have given it her best try, though." He laughs heartily at this.

I allow myself a small chuckle, as well. Not because it's funny, but because he speaks of her as if he were reminiscing about an old friend. It's clear in his voice that the thought of her puts him at ease. I wonder if I sound like that when I talk about my mom.

Just as I'm about to say something else, Mister Yagi doubles over abruptly, spewing an almost comical amount of blood from his mouth. He instantly reverts to his frail, skeletal form, sputtering and hacking as he endeavors to clear his lungs.

"Oh my gosh! Are you okay?" I yell, thinking he must be dying. It's something I did, I'm sure of it. And now he's dying.

He holds up a hand. "Yeah, I'm fine." He coughs again, spraying a red mist from his throat. "This just happens sometimes. I can only be in that huge form for a few hours a day, since it strains my body so much."

"Oh. Is…is it because of your _kekkei genkai_?"

"Partly. It certainly doesn't help. The strain of having that much unnatural chakra tends to eat at your body a bit no matter what. That's why I had you climb all the way up here – to see if your body could handle it."

I'm suddenly grateful that I have no skill with taijutsu, otherwise I wouldn't have had to train so hard to avoid getting killed during sparring matches. I wouldn't have been able to scale that plateau face otherwise. Come to think of it, I almost gave up at the ninety-nine percent mark. Could those few hundred pushups I did to tire myself out last night have been the difference between success and failure?

"As for my radically atrophied form," he continues, jabbing a thumb at his chest, "this is my fault. I get careless one time out of a thousand, and I end up like this."

"Careless?" I inquire. I spot another canteen lying on the ground. It's likely meant for me, but he clearly needs it more, so I hand it to him. He takes a long swig before speaking again.

"Yeah," he sighs, staring absently into the darkness of the canteen. There's a sad kind of resignation in it, a bitterness at himself.

"If you don't mind my asking, what happened?"

He raises his head slowly, making sure to firmly meet my eyes.

The expression carved onto his face is beyond mere description – it can only be measured in gigatons of intensity. It is a bookmark in our conversation. A point of no return. It says that should I take one step further into his world, learn the secrets he has fought to the edge of his life to protect, there will be no going back to the life I once had – the person I was.

I feel like I'm teetering on a cliff. If I continue, his enemies will be my enemies, and I will be at risk of suffering like he has.

Maybe it's ironic, but the fact that I get all of that from one look brings all the pieces together for me. Maybe I wasn't conscious of it, but I passed my own point of no return a long time ago. He's placed so much of his trust in me already. How could I not do the same?

I square my shoulders and set my stance, imbuing my eyes with as much resolve as I can. He drew the line, and I've stepped over it. I think he understands that, because he answers me.

"My inheritance, this _kekkei genkai_ , is called Convergence. Our enemy killed my master trying to steal it, and they will resurface soon enough to try again."

* * *

 **II**

"She…died?" I say quietly. I never knew. "They tried so steal her _kekkei genkai_?"

In this world of shinobi, war and strife are commonplace even to those who live in relative peace. The Third Hokage's death was a grim reminder to the Land of Fire that nowhere is completely safe. I've heard and read countless stories about governments doing everything they can to quell dissent in sometimes morally reprehensible ways. Children have been killed at birth for bearing certain physical _kekkei genkai_ , and entire clans, like the Hidden Leaf's own Uchiha Clan, have been slaughtered wholesale for their powerful and potentially dangerous bloodlines.

We fear what we cannot control and seek to erase it. That much is a given. But for someone's _kekkei genkai_ to be _stolen_ from them is not only unheard of, it is impossible.

At least, I _think_ it is. But Mister Yagi's grim expression is making me increasingly unsure.

"They tried, but of course they failed," he says. A darkness falls over him like a velvet curtain. "She passed Convergence on to me as she lay dying in my arms, urging me not to abandon the work I had sworn to undertake. I hadn't anticipated losing her so quickly, though. I was barely eighteen. I needed her…"

He draws a shaky breath. If he's holding back tears, I can't tell from beyond the shadow of his brow.

I think he's about to say something else for a second, but he doesn't. I take the opportunity.

"I'm sorry," I say. "About your master."

He looks at me and sighs. "I guess some things just never leave you, eh, Young Midoriya?"

I don't answer. I don't even know how I could.

The corners of his mouth upturn once again, steadily transforming back into his big toothy grin.

"I knew you were the right choice," he says. I'm not expecting it after discussing such a grim topic, but he's on the upswell. Maybe for my sake.

"R-really?"

"Where I come from, they say there's two things you need to be a ninja," he holds up two fingers, "grit, and desire. Grit gets you through the tough times, and desire is derived from the will to live. You need to possess both in equal measures to learn how to use this ability. It's a long, hard road that might yield your death. But if you've come this far, I'm going to assume you know that."

I set my face in stone and nod once.

"I know you have grit because you climbed all the way up here, even though you didn't know what it was for. That, and you stayed at the Academy for years without improving at all." He laughs. "That takes a lot of grit. As for desire, I know you have that because of your answer."

"My answer?" I'm not sure I ever gave him one, but he seems to think I did.

"It's clear you want to live so that you can chase your dream on your own terms. That takes a ridiculous amount of restraint. You'd be shocked how many people assume it's a yes or no question, but it isn't meant to be answered like that. Say yes and I'll assume you're reckless and gullible for taking a total stranger at his word. If you answer no, I'll assume your spirit isn't strong enough to handle the truth."

"That sounds complicated."

"It is, but it doesn't have to be. At least…" He holds the flame out to me. "Not anymore." My hands reach out instinctively, but I'm not sure I'm supposed to take it, so I hesitate. "It's okay. You won't hurt it. If it goes out, it just returns to me."

I gulp hard, cupping my hands underneath his. He parts his hands and lets it fall through.

The instant it touches my palm, I'm overtaken by a rush of energy. The environment blurs, and I'm suddenly in a mind space where everything moves a million kilometers an hour.

The nodes in my palms inflate to maximum capacity, straining as my network does its best to accommodate the swelling influx of chakra. I break out in a cold sweat, body flooding with heat. Every muscle I have screams at me, and I can hear the blood rushing in my ears.

My senses are enhanced a thousand-fold. I can almost taste Ichiraku from here, smell the flowers in our garden at home. My lungs pump at an alarming rate as my blood cells run dry of oxygen, rushing to supply more throughout my body. For a moment, everything is so vivid and crisp and alive even as I seize with exhilaration, tendrils of green lightning dancing up and down my body.

And just like that, it is over.

He scoops up the flame again, brings it to his mouth, and swallows it. He grimaces, presumably accepting that energy back into his body.

"How was that?" he asks after letting me rest a moment.

I'm doubled over, even more winded than when I reached this summit. I can feel everything I have relaxing, unwinding like a spool.

"Incredible," I manage through gasps. "Unbelievable."

"And that was barely a taste. The trait optimizes chakra flow up to a hundred times the average and increases the amount of chakra inside you about as much."

"You would really give me something so powerful, so rare and precious?"

He smiles. "I'm new to the concept, but I think you have what this country calls the Will of Fire. I don't see why I need any more reason than that."

"I…" I can't think of anything to say – nothing that will fully convey how humbled I am in this moment. I mean to say something formal like "I'm honored," but instead my eyes begin pouring tears.

"It's really happening," I say. "I'm going to be a ninja. Thank you."

He smiles. "I should be the one thanking you, Young Midoriya. Once the procedure is done, I can rest easy knowing Convergence is in good hands."

I look up, wiping my face. "Procedure?" The word doesn't conjure positive imagery.

"Yeah, nothing crazy. I channeled a bit of the Convergence into you just now. But for me to pass it on permanently, we'll need to place a special seal on you. Like this." He pulls the neck of his shirt down to reveal a series of symbols etched onto his skin in a circular fashion.

I haven't done as much research into sealing as I would like to yet, but I know enough to tell an everyday seal from a seal that means it. This seal is clearly in the upper echelon, incorporating minute details that I can't begin to guess the purpose of. It is likely holding back a lot of power. Without it, Mister Yagi's body might be ripped apart just by having Convergence inside him.

I wish that were the most troubling thing, though. On his neck and chest are numerous scars, deep and red as desert canyons. Some of them look relatively fresh. My worry must be showing on my face, because he clears his throat and releases the neck of his shirt, letting it retract back into place.

Every piece of information he gives me just yields more questions. What famous ninja will I discover to be Mister Yagi's predecessors? Who are these enemies who are out to get Convergence? Why is it even called that, and what kind of training do I have to do to master it?

My head feels like it's going to explode.

I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand to block any further questions I might have.

"I know you're curious, and I'll answer as many questions as you like later. But right now, we have to—"

"I have a question," grinds a raspy voice.

Mister Yagi bursts into his muscle form instantly, head swiveling as he scans the area for the source of the voice. He's tensed up everything he has, preparing for an attack from any angle. I've seen this body language from other ninjas, and it never means anything good.

I'm blown back by a blast of wind as something huge comes hurtling into the sky from below our line of sight. It lands with an earth-shaking crash, fragmenting the rock beneath it.

When I open my eyes, he's right in front of Mister Yagi, standing nearly as tall and twice as menacing. His arms and chest are thickly layered with raw, uncovered sinew, and his left eye has been replaced with an optical apparatus of some kind. He's horrifying to behold.

I don't realize how much trouble we're in until he says, "I've been looking for you, Toshinori Yagi."


End file.
